One Last Stand
by Eyes-of-Pearl
Summary: This is something that I did for English class. It takes place right before the last chap in book 3 and it gives an insight into the man of the Inner Party, O'Brien and explains the relationship between him and Winston.


Title: One Last Stand  
  
Author: Eyes_of_Pearl  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: 1984 does not belong to me but to its author George Orwell.  
  
I wrote this for English class and takes place right after chapter 5 in  
  
book 3. Room 101 has already happen and in a dream sequence, I am going to  
  
examine why O'Brien is the man as we know it and Winston is going to have a   
  
last chance to have his say before the end of the novel. The premise is   
  
to stay true to Orwell's style which I try to capture here and to remain  
  
faithful to the ending of the book. It's a lot of narrative but it expresses  
  
one of the prominent themes of the novel which is power and control.  
  
It's something different from what I usually post which is anime so hopefully  
  
you guys will enjoy it.  
  
`^`^`^`  
  
Winston released a deep breath, the tension momentarily leaving his body   
  
until the after-effects of his previous gruelling undertaking surged up his   
  
body. Every infliction of pain was evident with an occasional numbing of   
  
sensations, abnormal twitching and jerking of his shoulder blade, limbs and   
  
head. His body screamed in agony from the repeated beatings which only   
  
compounded with each preceding cry. His throat felt raw as if he had   
  
swallowed a thousand pieces of shard glass. Each swallow sent acidic tears   
  
to his eyes. Mentally, his mind was exhausted, distorted liked drawings in   
  
the sand. The more he tried to grasp the remains, the more they faded away   
  
and slipped between the cracks of his hands. His eyelids felt liked dead   
  
weights as he struggled and lost the fight for consciousness.  
  
`^`^`^`  
  
Winston woke up in utter darkness, a void which engulfed him almost like a   
  
second skin. His eyes peered for any signs of life as he attempted a step   
  
forward. A bright flash of light erupted from within and slowly subsided as  
  
Winston found himself neither floating nor standing, neither defying the   
  
laws of gravity nor obeying it, just suspended in a volume of space. Winston  
  
once again walked forward, or at least what he assumed to be forward. Then   
  
out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the silhouette of a man advancing  
  
his way. He blinked twice to clear his vision as the man said, 'I see you   
  
made it here but then again, Winston, you of all people should be here.'  
  
At the sound of O'Brien's voice, authoritative yet laced with a touch of   
  
brotherly gentleness, Winston asked, 'What is this place?'  
  
O'Brien simply ignored Winston and turned back the way which he had come and   
  
motioned Winston to follow him. 'This,' O'Brien gestured the space around   
  
him, 'is the subconscious part of your mind. You are here because your mind   
  
demands that you be here. You are neither dead nor alive but simply a   
  
figment conjured by you. As for unasked question that you desire an answer   
  
to, I myself, am also a figment conjured by you. I am here because you want  
  
me to be here. As part of you cries out for that last stand, one last step   
  
for mankind.'  
  
A million questions ran through Winston's as he tried to absorb all of this   
  
in. He wasn't sure what to say next. A part of him warned him to be   
  
cautious. In front of him was O'Brien, the same man who had been his   
  
tormentor, the man who looked on as Winston bawled for mercy, who was on the   
  
verge of killing Winston. That part of him wasn't sure if this was another   
  
ploy by the Party to test the endurance of his mentality. On the other hand,  
  
another part of him churned with curiosity. O'Brien was the same man who   
  
had been his saviour, the man who comforted Winston as he cried like a   
  
child, the only man who understood him. Winston saw himself in O'Brien, the  
  
ultimate embodiment of a rebellious figure head who had the means and   
  
resources to overthrow the Party. From the moment their paths crossed,   
  
O'Brien served as a constant for Winston, the only tangible thing in which   
  
he could firmly clasp at the palm of his hand.   
  
'You are wondering if you should trust me or not. Your mind can't   
  
distinguish between reality and illusions. No matter how much you try to deny  
  
it, you are still questioning Big Brother's motives, still questioning me.'  
  
O'Brien, who had previously had his back to Winston, had abruptly stopped and  
  
directed around to face Winston. He wore a smirk as he saw Winston had been  
  
struck speechless. 'I don't blame you, no, not at all.'  
  
O'Brien stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, 'I   
  
recall someone very close to me once had the notion that too much power can   
  
corrupt the human mind. But contrary to that absurdity, power itself doesn't  
  
corrupt because the heart of human nature is corrupted. The entire human   
  
existence is tainted from the moment that we have one selfish thought, one   
  
ambitious desire, one night of zealous passion. That unquenchable lust for   
  
power courses through our very veins for it is an inescapable path of no   
  
return.'  
  
'But, you yourself said that we do not exist. If humans do not exist then   
  
there should not be a struggle for power,' Winston countered.  
  
'No, I said that YOU don't exist. The Party exists to the people of   
  
Oceania, the Party itself exists as a coalition but you, on the other hand,   
  
do not. That's why you appeal to me so much, Winston, because you remind me   
  
of someone, the same person who believed in the corruption of power. But,   
  
that person was weak with concealed dreams and hopeful fantasies of a future   
  
that cannot be expected by anybody, not even the proles. You wrote in your  
  
diary that the only hope lies with them. You are right and you are wrong   
  
because the power generated by the union of the proles is too dispersed,   
  
channelled into a proletarian hogwash of lottery and pornography. The Party   
  
knows this, and that's why we keep feeding that rubbish to them. You,   
  
Winston, live on those futile what-ifs, with each turn you make, you think   
  
you have the answers in your hand but, in truth, they are only shadows   
  
looking down at you.'  
  
For a brief moment, O'Brien turned his head slightly, his eyes glimmered   
  
with a faraway look, his voice had faded, forlorn and melancholic. Winston   
  
could scarcely decipher O'Brien's words as he continue to murmur, 'Winson,   
  
once upon a time, I was naive as you are now. I was a man in love with a   
  
woman of exquisite strength and beauty. I poured forth my utter devotion   
  
and exposed to her my heart. Yet at the same time, leaving myself   
  
susceptible to anguish and as she fell in love with another man of greater   
  
influence and wealth. All that we shared was diminished by that ravish   
  
desire for power.'  
  
At that moment, Winston saw the vulnerability of the man of the Inner Party  
  
but like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, that look was immediately   
  
replaced. O'Brien once more lifted up his head, his eyes blazing behind his  
  
spectacles as he continued, 'So you see, I know every thought, every action,  
  
every word that you made or are going to make. Unlike you, I am no longer   
  
clouded by wishful reveries because the moment you see all your ideals and   
  
beliefs that resemble hope ripped from the very essence of your heart, you   
  
will realize that nothing and nobody can save you from the clutches of   
  
power.'  
  
Something inside Winston snapped and he said, 'So you are simply tormenting  
  
others because of revenge, or . . . guilt or simply for pain because you   
  
have experienced them yourself. You destroy the lives of people who are   
  
still willing to hope, to take risks. You pray on their fears, and degrade   
  
them to nothingness and then rebuild them with a false sense of hope and   
  
belief that suits you. No, you are wrong, we are not alike because I do   
  
exist. Maybe not to you or the people of Oceania but in myself, I exist.   
  
I have no standards to live by. What is real? What is false?'  
  
'What hope do these people have?' O'Brien cried incredulously as he threw   
  
his arms up in the air to emphasize his point. 'Their hope is what we   
  
broadcast to them over the telescreens, the two minutes hate and whatever   
  
the Party wants them to believe. By instilling these thoughts into them,   
  
they will never be hurt, never experience pain, because every night they   
  
would go to bed knowing that they had done more good than harm. They have   
  
no power because it is the Party that gives them power.'  
  
'Then people are not living at all . . . '  
  
'They have no purpose to live. They are existing, bodies with no identities   
  
but that's all that matters, isn't it? I have simply manipulated power to   
  
show all previous pretenses will be and can be accomplished. There will be   
  
no more stains in one's memory, no more regrets. Human nature is built upon   
  
the foundation of power and I, in turn, have eliminated further yearnings for  
  
it. Power is pure and constant. Don't you see there will always be only one  
  
word for it, whether it is in Newspeak or Oldspeak?'  
  
'Why do you bother with me? A minority of one . . . '  
  
O'Brien, who was in a previous uproar, took at deep breath before he took   
  
hold of Winston's two shoulders and pushed him down to a chair that had   
  
simply materialized. He himself straightened his back liked a teacher who   
  
was about to begin an important lesson.  
  
'As I said before, you intrigued me because contrary to what you believe we   
  
are in fact one in the same. In your frenzy, you failed to realize the   
  
extent that the party has upon you. The further that you tried to dislodge   
  
yourself from us, the closer you are actually embracing the party.   
  
Ultimately, it comes down to a battle of the mind. Human mind is the extreme  
  
form of power. When you can overcome the shadows and decipher black from   
  
white at the palm of your hand, then and only then will you exist. I know   
  
you, Winston, your last stand will be battle of your mind.'  
  
`^`^`^`  
  
End   
  
So it ends on my take on what happen after Room 101. Let me know what you  
  
think by r/r or even leave comments as to the relevance of this one-shot.  
  
Anyway, until later, peace!! 


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